


Ambush

by Mendax



Category: Mag7 - Fandom
Genre: M/M, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-02
Updated: 2011-01-02
Packaged: 2017-10-14 08:32:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/147358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mendax/pseuds/Mendax





	Ambush

  
  
  


It wasn’t an ideal ambush, but Chris had made do with worse setups. Ezra had passed the doorway a minute or two earlier on his way to the privy, and even now Chris could hear his returning tread firm against the creaking wide beams of the saloon floor.

He timed it just right. Came around the corner of the doorway and had one hand over Ezra’s mouth and the other gripping his right arm below the elbow — because Ezra could be damn twitchy with that derringer of his and Chris wasn’t risking his reaction time — before Ezra had much of a chance to do more than widen his eyes. Dragged him back around the corner into the dark store room, seven steps and then a hard right and shove forward, tucking them behind a set of tall shelves with Chris between Ezra and the door.

Then stifled a curse at the vicious bite to the palm of his hand, and pulled it away from Ezra’s mouth.

“Just what do you think you’re doing?” Ezra hissed.

Chris bared his teeth and pressed in close and hard, let Ezra feel him against his hip. “You been drawin’ me on all night. What do you _think._ ”

 _“Here?”_

Chris almost grinned. Even at a whisper, nobody could do incredulous affront like Ezra, for all he was damn near impossible to shock or offend — morally speaking, anyway. “Here,” he growled. He’d let go of Ezra’s arm, and now took the lapels of Ezra’s coat and tugged them back, pulling it off his shoulders. “Nobody has reason to come back here this time of night. ‘Less you make too much noise.”

That got a reaction sure enough. A fine shudder rocked through that sturdy frame, and quickened breath gusted across Chris’s jaw and neck. Still, Ezra lifted his chin stubbornly. “I am in the middle of a most lucrative game I have no wish to abandon.”

“They’ll still be there.” His fingers were buried in the soft, slippery, silken folds of Ezra’s cravat. They found the pin end and removed it, sliding it back through the silk for keeping, then tugging loose the knot as he spoke. “You lost a hand and folded on two. Figure you lost another one after I left.” He’d seen Ezra use this ploy in the past; he made his opponents think their luck had turned. That way when he had to step outside, they stayed on the hook, waited patiently for him to come back and fillet them. Tonight, it was how Chris had known when to leave the saloon, wrap around and come in through the back.

Ezra had tensed against him. He hated Chris knowing his game. There was a bit more chill in his voice now, but Chris had finished with the fussy silk tie and let his hands do some wandering, so there was heat there too. “And how do you propose I explain the ... duration of my absence?”

Chris smiled at him sharp and wicked, knowing there was enough light filtering in for Ezra to see it. “Ain’t gonna take long,” he said, as dirty as he knew how, and stepped back enough to slide his hand down over fine woolen trousers and squeeze, feeling Ezra thicken and swell against the curve of his fingers.

Ezra’s breath left him in a rush. He wriggled a little, shifting his shoulders to try to shrug the rest of the way out of his coat.

Chris pushed back against him, pressing him into the wall. “Uh-uh,” he said.

One thing you could say about Ezra, he never flinched from raised stakes. The coat, shoved just off his shoulders like it was, restricted his movement, but he relaxed into it, rocked his hips slowly against Chris’s hand.

Chris squeezed him again, then drew his hand up to the buckle of Ezra’s belt. “You’re a damned tease, Standish,” he said, low and right in Ezra’s ear as his hands pulled the belt end free and tugged a little sharper than necessary to release the buckle. “Ain’t wise to push me.”

“I’m sure I don’t know-“

Chris cut off that desultory drawl with a sharp nip to Ezra’s earlobe. “You damned well do,” he growled.

Ezra swallowed. That was better.

Chris bent his knees to ease the gun belt to the floor and insinuated one leg between Ezra’s on his way back up. Oh, god _damn_ it was good to ride the width of that solid thigh. “I could go like this,” he rasped into Ezra’s ear. He slid his hand up over the textured brocade of Ezra’s waistcoat, relishing the sensual drag of it beneath his palm. Dug his fingers in a little as he skated over a nipple, but not enough. “Don’t think you could, though.”

Ezra’s body wrenched against his, trying to twist into his hand, into his hip, clearly understanding the threat. Chris shoved again, taking away what little space had crept in between him, Ezra and the wall. He slid against Ezra’s thigh again, hands restive and aggressive over all those fancy layers Ezra wore; silk and wool and fine linen, buttons everywhere and the slim chain of his watch. Their panting breaths seemed obscenely loud in the confined space.

Ezra’s hands were on him, too, gripping and stroking so far as he could, too damned dangerous even restricted as he was. Chris bit out a frustrated curse and yanked at Ezra’s shirt-tails, taking two sharp tugs to get the vest hitched up and the shirt pulled free of his trousers, and then Chris could slide his hand up underneath it, press his palm flat against the smooth, heated skin of Ezra’s belly, curve his fingers against the taut, bunched-up muscles there.

He splayed his hand wide and felt Ezra twitch, then slid it lower. Twisted at the wrist and skimmed his fingers down beneath trousers and drawers, felt the delicate skin of Ezra’s groin, and then the velvety heat of his prick slid against the back of Chris’s fingers.

“Chris...”

 _Damn_ it. That warm, smooth skin was too damned much. Chris pulled his hand free, ran it back up over Ezra’s chest. “Get ‘em open,” he growled.

Ezra’s hand flew to his trousers, nimble fingers making short work of buttons even one-handed while Chris found what he sought and pulled a silk handkerchief from Ezra’s pocket. By then Ezra had dispatched of all hindrances, and Chris sank down to his knees, allowing himself a dark smile at the hitch in Ezra’s breath.

Ignoring the formalities, as Ezra might have called it, he took the head of Ezra’s cock between his lips. Gentle at first, sucking lightly while his hands were busy freeing himself and he could put his attention where it belonged. Didn’t take long — Ezra wasn’t the only one who was somewhat ... inspired by this point. He licked along Ezra’s urgent length — and damn but Ezra’s skin was fine, the hard and soft and musk of it — then slid his lips back over the head as he took himself in a hand sheathed in Ezra’s delicate silk handkerchief.

He felt near drunk on sensation. Ezra’s muted, breathy moans, fighting so hard to stay quiet, the taste and feel of him, and that wicked slippery glide of silk on himself — he’d said it wouldn’t take long. Only surprise was that Ezra got there first. A quick tug to his hair in warning, like Chris couldn’t _tell_ , and then, shit, _he_ was there too.

Chris’s chest heaved as he sucked air in through his nose, finally collecting himself enough to feel Ezra’s hands in his hair, gentle and easy as sin. Enough to drag his tongue along the underside of Ezra’s prick and swallow again, taking those last bitter traces and a measure of pleased, half-cruel amusement in the stifled whimper above him. Enough to rock back onto his heels and look up, make sure he had Ezra’s eyes before dragging his wrist and the back of his hand across his mouth, wiping away the seed that had escaped the corner and spilled down his chin.

“Oh dear lord,” Ezra breathed shakily, and Chris rose to his feet even though his knees were telling him he was damn well on his own. He didn’t have much time.

He let his eyes trail over Ezra: trousers and drawers gaping open, bottom of his waistcoat flipped up, rumpled, with an untied cravat and jacket half off. Disheveled and thoroughly debauched. “Best get yourself put together,” he said, forcing his voice to stay even.

Ezra blinked at him. His hands were moving before the rest of him caught up; shrugging his coat up, tucking himself in, buttons flying closed as fast as they’d opened before. Chris let him get that far before stepping in close again, taking the pungent, strategically if hastily folded handkerchief and tucking it deliberately back into Ezra’s pocket.

“Pretty sure that’s yours,” he said in response to Ezra’s outraged expression. “Told you. Ain’t wise to push me.”

He saw Ezra’s expression as he turned away. The one that promised all kinds of retribution and mayhem. Felt a frisson of anticipation shoot down his spine. Wasn’t wise to push Ezra, either. Chris could hardly wait.

  
**Entry tags:**   
|   
[fic](http://mendax.dreamwidth.org/tag/fic), [mag7](http://mendax.dreamwidth.org/tag/mag7)  
  
---|---


End file.
